Someone—I won't say who—gained 3 kilos since she arrived at my house in March. That's a 12% increase. Will she notice when I cut her kibble by 10% until she's back down to 23½ kilos?
And no, I didn't forget that today would have been Parker's 15th Gotcha Day. I do miss him.
Hanging out in my (relocated) office, last Wednesday morning:
Cassie last got a bath (I think) sometime in April. So, wow, did she need one today. And she was a trooper. Before:
She actually likes water, so she just let me spray her down, shampoo her up, and spray her down again. Once inside and toweled off, she got the zoomies but good.
After two hours she's dry and doesn't smell like a wet dog. And she's so soft again, without the sheen of whatever she rolled in at day camp for the past few weeks.
According to the paperwork I received from Cassie's shelter, she was born on 18 July 2018 in Cheatham County, Tenn. They may have guessed; no one will ever know. Regardless, I decree that her birthday is officially July 18th. Time for a birthday portrait or two:
(Or maybe a portrait and a landscape?)
Happy birthday, Cassie!
Cassie and I had a long day yesterday, which included several rides in the car and lots of play time. It also involved tons of fireworks. And a raw, marrow-filled bison bone:
Adding more data to the "failed hunting dog" hypothesis of Cassie's origin, we walked through a neighborhood southwest of the city with fireworks exploding left and right, and Cassie didn't care. We did normal leash work, in fact, because the fireworks didn't even distract her. Happy dog:
One of my neighbors is having his floors redone today, so I'm dogsitting. Cassie is nonplussed:
Cassie and Sophie know each other pretty well already, so no worries there. But Sophie is a quiet, middle-aged dog, and Cassie is the equivalent of a recent college grad on a bender in Lincoln Park. Sophie just wants to take a nap. Cassie just wants to play. Sophie is now on her third sleeping surface, hoping Cassie stops doing this:
I feel you, Sophe. Cassie's a lot before 9am.
At some point I'm going to have to walk both of them together. That should be...fun?
President Biden's 13-year-old German shepherd died earlier this week:
Champ Biden, one of two German shepherds belonging to President Biden and his family has died, the president and first lady Jill Biden announced late Saturday morning. He was 13 years old.
"Our hearts are heavy today," Biden and first lady Jill Biden wrote in a statement, adding that the dog had died at their home.
Champ was a puppy during Biden's tenure as vice president under the Obama administration. The same statement commemorated the dog's love for chasing golf balls at the Naval Observatory and spending time with the Biden grandchildren.
Champ's longtime loyalty was also remembered in the Bidens' statement Saturday.
"In our most joyful moments and in our most grief-stricken days, he was there with us, sensitive to our every unspoken feeling and emotion," the statement said. "We love our sweet, good boy and will miss him always."
Champ was a Good Boy. Major, though...he's getting there.
Parker would have turned 15 today. I'm of course very glad to have Cassie, but I do miss my bête noir quite a bit.
So far today, Cassie and I have taken 2½ hours of walks, and she's taken about twice that in naps while I read in the sunroom with a nice breeze blowing over me. In other words, nothing to blog about today.
Just look at this beauty:
This dog had way too much fun on Sunday. Towards the end of her time at the beach, she chased this dude all over:
I have almost as much fun as she does, watching her open up to full speed. Wow, she is fast.